Fall
by ILoveThesePeople
Summary: She has always known, always had time to prepare. Now though she is left blind with only the uneasy knowledge that no matter how or when, one of them will fall.


**Author: ILoveThesePeople**

**Rating: T**

**Genre: Romance/Angst**

**Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Merlin/Gwen/Arthur**

**Word Count: **

**Warnings: Implied slash, femslash, and OT4.**

**Summary: She has always known, always had time to prepare. Now though she is left blind with only the uneasy knowledge that no matter how or when, one of them will fall.**

**A/N: I have been meaning to do a OT4 for a long while, but have just now managed to find the time. I'm not sure how I feel about this since Morgana's character is really hard for me to write, but I hope ya'll enjoy it no matter what.**

_Fall: Morgana_

When Morgana is a child, she thinks the world of her father. She strives to be all he wants her to be and she memorizes all the small things she can so that when she grows older she can mimic them, carry on his memory. Even then she knew of the upcoming war, the pitying gazes, and a reluctant messenger. That didn't stop the dreams from repeating or the tears from escaping.

When Morgana is a preteen, straddling between lives of innocence and haughtiness, she admires Arthur. He isn't the world to her, no she's too smart for that, knows she can't risk herself like that. It still doesn't stop the silent scream that escapes- too much like the last one, _too much_- when she sees his fate. It's distant, his face marked with age and unfamiliar lines that have yet to form. She finds comfort in that- that and the familiar pattern of whorls from a long gone sword she traces in her skirts.

When Morgana is a teenager, she respects Uther. Her memories had faded except for a familiar pattern and loving green eyes and she longs to fill in- replace the wound she thought was gone. Uther, she finds, if nothing like her father and everything she told herself as a child she wouldn't be. He lacks gentle words and a comforting presence, but he is there and Morgana contents herself with that fact. So when she sees his future she wakes up not with a scream and tears, but with the bitter tang of metal in her mouth and the memorizing pattern of whorls already beginning to trace itself on the silk of her sheets.

When Morgana is a woman, if only by age if not attitude, her world shifts slightly. She's always known all, always been able to tell whether or not the world will change in a second or if it will always stay the same. Yet she has never known this, this burning feeling that sweeps through her, claims her as its own and marks in a way that changes all of her perspective. No longer does she only trust one with what remains of her pride, dignity, trust, respect, with her _heart. _Now she feels strong and empowered with their encouraging words whispering silently in her ear.

That's why, when Morgana is no longer a child, preteen, teenager, or a woman, but somewhere in-between as she falls through time, her dreams change. There's no more death or pain that sends her into a sobbing, screaming mess in the middle of the night. No, instead there is a haunting dream. Dream, not vision for while she knows this will come to pass she also knows that this is not inevitable, simply a warning against their actions.

The dream is surreal, an odd mixing of the night sky, a deep never ending fog, and lights that seemed to flash as if the sun was trying desperately to fit itself in with the night sky. They were all there, silent and contrasting. They all clasped hands, Gwen's coco colored skin mixing with Merlin's pale hand as he grasped onto Arthur's tan, calloused hand. Arthur had a strong grip on Morgana's petite ivory colored hand and Morgana held onto Gwen's other hand as if it were a life line. Their dance is odd, their bodies moving together in a way that she could not tell where they ended and where they began.

The dream always brought with it a false sense of tranquility that was always shattered when it was displayed that they all moved on the point of a familiar sword, their feet bloody and littered with long gashes that created a memorable pattern of whorls on their feet. It was then that Morgana would wake up with the uneasy knowledge that sooner or later one of them would have to fall.


End file.
